Walking Into Murder by Joan Dahr Lambert Page A

either. Tours never took people through the occupied parts of the house.
    Pulling out the brochure she had picked up, Laura saw that there was one today, another in two days. She would go to that one, she decided. By then Thomas would probably have left. After that, she would get on with her walk and enjoy it as she should.
    Re-invigorated, Laura set off briskly for Stourton.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Laura followed the path into a grove of trees. Bluebells made a carpet of azure on the floor of the woods, and their light scent filled her nostrils. All tension spilled out of her as she breathed it in. This was what walking was all about: peace, beauty, the glorious sensation of easy movement, not fast but steady and somehow reassuring.
    She passed into a field filled with frolicking lambs and their watchful mothers. Laura threaded her way through them, delighting in their antics. The cows in the next field were less welcoming. They eyed her warily, worried about the tiny calves nestled at their feet. Cows were large and intimidating anyway, but when they had young, they were apt to harass unwary walkers.
    Laura turned away from them and skirted cautiously along the edges of the fence. To her relief, they didn’t bother her. Emerging in the woods again, she sat down to rest for a moment by a small stream. Propping her back against a tree, she closed her eyes to take in the scents and sounds, and breathe…
    A sharp tapping roused Laura, and she looked at her watch. She must have fallen asleep. It sounded as if someone was hammering on rocks, maybe repairing one of the beautiful old walls of Cotswold stone. She decided to watch for a few minutes. They were such marvelous walls, and it was good to know they were cared for.
    To her astonishment, instead of workmen and walls, she saw Nigel. Sitting beside him was the green-eyed beauty, far lovelier in person than as a mask. Sunlight glinted off her dark hair, revealing reddish streaks; her skin was translucent, her eyes large and very, very green. She was also more girl than woman, Laura realized. But what were they doing here?
    Nigel was crouched over a large piece of gray stone, making precise cuts with well-aimed blows. He was so intent on his task that he didn’t notice Laura even when she came up behind him. The girl looked up, startled by Laura’s approach, and gave Nigel a gentle poke. “Company,” she mumbled, and wandered away.
    She behaved like a skittish colt, Laura thought, and decided not to speak to her but to wait for Cat to decide it was all right to return.
    Nigel blinked, freeing himself from his absorption. “Oh, hello, Laura,” he said, his voice friendly. “Like my grasshopper?”
    Laura knelt beside him, awed. It really was a grasshopper, carved in stone. A huge one, but so beautifully made that it looked ready to hop away.
    “So you’re a sculptor in stone, too,” she said admiringly. “I think you are truly the most talented young person I have ever had the pleasure to meet. How did you learn to do things like this?”
    Nigel looked embarrassed, but she knew he was also pleased. “Dunno exactly,” he answered. “Just comes out, I guess.”
    Laura smiled at him. “Then we’ll all just hope that it keeps coming out,” she told him. “You are very good.”
    “My father doesn’t like the idea,” he said with a grimace. “He wants to send me to some boarding school. Can’t make a living on art, he says.”
    “How about your mother? Or the Baroness?”
    Nigel looked embarrassed. “My mother’s dead, has been for a long time,” he explained, and hurried on before Laura could frame the conventional murmurs of sympathy. “Antonia, she’s my stepmother I guess, isn’t too bad about the art stuff, but that’s because she doesn’t care what I do as long as I keep out of the way.” He grinned, taking the sting out of the words. “Gram’s the best, though. She’s an artist too, and she thinks I’m better off here. Even my father doesn’t